The Poet and the Wise Man
by Helkh
Summary: The drow will fear nothing but the most deadly of berserker rages. Perhaps there is something more to Jarlaxle. [Z/J]


**The Poet and the Wise Man**

  
  
"Baenre, that one."

The whispers echoed down the halls of Melee-Magthere coldly, fearfully. "He's mad."

Snorts and sceptical smirks sometimes greeted these comments, other times eyes furtively glanced to the shadows as though waiting for a form to emerge and cut them down.

"He killed Uthegental's twin with nothing more than half a wooden sword."

"A monster."

Zaknafein, naturally, couldn't care less. He went about his business without speaking to anyone about the senior student that had suddenly gained a hellish reputation amongst the graduating year. The whisperings of his fellow students disgusted him. Uthegental himself was halfway decent - quiet, at least. His brother was an absolute savage and Zak was not sorry to see him gone. A part of him mourned, but mourned only for the previous innocence that would have caused him sadness to see another die. Now he shut it out coldly and left no room for moralistic posturing .

It had no place with the drow.

A female also had no place in the bathhouses, as far as he was concerned. It didn't seem quite right that no one else had made any effort to chase the doubtlessly lewd woman out, but perhaps it was merely the result of living sheltered lives. Not that Zak himself was a perfect example of an 'open' life, but there was the matter of the female to attend to. Gawping at the far side of the room would hardly get her anywhere near the door.

Tightening his towel with an air of military professionalism, Zaknafein approached her silently. Seemingly unaware of the gender-specific area and shedding cloak and boots, the woman watched his approach curiously.

"This isn't a part of the academy women are usually allowed near."

The perpetual clamour of the bathhouse quieted, waiting. Pushing a ringlet behind one ear, the intruder cocked one hip, crossed her arms and stared levelly at him, smirking ever so slightly. Zak found it faintly infuriating.

"'Women?'" The echo was a low baritone.

Zaknafein's eyebrows shot straight up, inducing a dry chuckle from the drow.

"Shall I ponce around naked to satiate your curiosity, or are you a touch brighter than you look?" 

"Shall I strangle you slowly and watch you asphyxiate for hours on end?" Zak gritted back. The stranger smiled sweetly and replied swiftly.

"That certainly isn't any way to treat a lady."

Ignoring the hiss of warning from the waters, he advanced upon the newcomer.

  
It didn't take much to set off the young graduate the next morning. Struggling with a splitting headache and wounded pride, Zaknafein made a point to eat his rations alone. He hadn't even seen the strike coming before he regained his senses, thrown against the stone wall with blood trickling from his scalp. The strange drow then did nothing more than walk calmly past him to take his place in the water.

Needless to say, he was not amused, and quite ready to burn anyone who bothered him alive, then feed their wiggling pieces to the wererats in the Clawrift and laugh maniacally. Zaknafein stared at the mush that passed for food in Magthere and wondered what sort of hallucinogen had been put in this morning. It was the only thing that could explain his current mental rambling.

"Did y'see the look on 'is face?"

"Cross-eyed for a full minute. Got nailed a good one right in the head!"

Guffaws from across the room. Zak began eating mechanically, paying little heed to the stupid litany being broadcasted at an ungodly volume.

"Good to see the silly bastard get some sense knocked into him. Thinks he's something."

"Never seen him go down yet; top of the class."

A snort. "So what? He's a loner. Has some sort of surfacer code of ethics or something."

"Yea. First year. Something about having unjustifiable hatred toward the Faeries or something. Hate to see him on a raid."

"You've garnered quite an odd reputation, Har'akk," a voice said softly. Zak caught up his knife and spun on the intruder, fully aware of his inadequate weaponry but willing to dismember clumsily if need be. Throwing it down upon seeing who had interrupted his studied meditation, he turned back to the remains of his food.

"Get away from me."

Someone decided Zak's discomfort was quite amusing. "Princess Baenre looks to court Prince Two -Hands."

Without bothering to even turn around, Zaknafein hurled his knife end over end in the general direction of the outburst and was rewarded with a shriek of pain and a stream of oaths. The drow perched at his side gave a low whistle.

"I wasn't aware one's mother could be cursed so many ways."

He smiled winningly at the viscous glare turned upon him.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Zak snapped.

"I dare say you're still a touch bitter about yesterday. But don't tell me I was the one off to a bad start. You did mistake me for a woman for one, and later decided to remove me by force. I was only acting out of self-defence."

He slammed his bowl upon the table and stalked out of the hall without comment. Jarlaxle sighed in lamentation for the drow's nonexistent social skills, hopped off the table and trotted after him. " You shouldn't be so surly. It puts people off the idea of talking to you, you know."

"Get the hell away from me." 

"That's exactly what I mean! Just because someone clips you on the head to save their intestines from lying around on the ground where they really ought not to be, you refuse to be even remotely conversational. It really makes you look like a giant, walking ass."

Zaknafein started walking faster, but Jarlaxle merely kept pace, jovially playing 'poke the snake'. "I do believe we have class together. Shan't that be an interesting time?"

"Only if I can rip your liver from your body with my bare hands," Zak grated.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"That's not a very nice thing to say. We need to work on your people skills." The older drow regarded his silent companion. "Though I dare say your current prowess starts and ends at the tip of a sword."

Zak stopped in front of the class doors. "Will you leave me alone!? Go harass someone else."

He almost felt a flicker of hope when the obnoxious male seemed to consider this honestly but the spark was stomped upon very quickly. A cheerful grin accompanied the damning words; "I don't think I'm capable."

Without another word, Zak stepped through the threshold, pondering briefly whether or not to slam the doors in his frustrating shadow's face. He dismissed it as being far too childish to waste the energy on. There were far worse things to do to infuriating people. "Who are you, and what do you really want?"

"Jarlaxle will do, I suppose. You're interesting, to say the least."

"Don't you have a house?" Zak took his place amongst the chattering students. To his ire, Jarlaxle sat next to him, shrugging.

Zak narrowed his eyes. "Everyone has a house. Is it so secretive?"

Another shrug as the senior student blew a ringlet out of his face. "No. I just don't think it's all that important."

A pair of slender swords fell into the laps of both, materializing out of nothing. Jarlaxle frowned at the rounded zigzag pattern of his blades. "I still think the formation spells these masters use at the beginning of term are quite ridiculous."

Zak bit back a nasty retort and turned his attention to the head of class wondering how quickly he could find a way to assassinate the bastard and save himself an agonizing year.


End file.
